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Full text of "To The Lighthouse"

THE   WINDOW

looking back over his shoulder as Mildred carried
him out, and she was certain that he was thinking,
we are not going to the Lighthouse to-morrow;
and she thought, he will remember that all his
life.

II

No, she thought, putting together some of the
pictures he had cut out—a refrigerator, a mowing
machine, a gentleman in evening dress—children
never forget. For this reason, it was so important
what one said, and what one did, and it was a
relief when they went to bed. For now she need
not think about anybody. She could be herself,
by herself. And that was what now she often felt
""the need of—to think; well not even to think.
To be silent; to be alone. All the being and the
doing, expansive, glittering, vocal, evaporated;
and one shrunk, with a sense of solemnity, to
being oneself, a wedge-shaped core of darkness,
something invisible to others. Although she con-
tinued to knit, and sat upright, it was thus that
she felt herself; and this self having shed its
attachments was free for the strangest adventures.
When life sank down for a moment, the range of
experience seemed limitless. And to everybody
there was always this sense of unlimited resources,
she supposed; one after another, she, Lily,

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